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J'accuse.

For those who do not know me still, I'm a scarecrow, and I live in the middle of a cornfield, so vast, that my eyes, which are then two buttons, do not come to snatch the immensity. The tow is the fact they are old, and the edges will rub me the ravens with their beaks, but I do not mind, I supporting the belief that even the peaceful sit here still contemplating it makes sense.

Then one night I was struck by lightning, and went up in flames like a match. The fire did not set it to the corn around me, around me because over the years went digging a hole in the ground in a circle, shallow, a bit 'too much for my desire not to annoy, a little' to the lack of desire of others to benefit from my protection - and yes in my life that I drew a lot of ravens and crows that would have thrown elsewhere, there was me.

If you only knew how strange maize. The more I burn, the more he becomes cold. Come, my fire, to a brightness level such that the corn stops it. If I pretend I did not understand or do not really see it, this scene provides the corn often called We help the scarecrow to go it alone. The corn is also very funny: a plant or two I point out that maybe I should choose other methods of communication. More me list the reasons why there can not be for me, but for other plants, of course, immediately. Other waste time apologizing that they could not own that night, they were all tired, they had other friends, other groups, other more interesting things to me . Other remind me that I had to create me a network of plants, so as to prevent such incidents happen.

Okay, I'm not so old as a scarecrow, I can always start over, and put out the fire. But then, what do you expect? Remember the years that led me to the fire? Think of the mistakes that I made and maize is not it? Rethinking the coldness of the affections of others, to their failure, their deafness? The future is not desirable - is broken right now.

But I would first go to ashes, and stop forever to take away the crows?

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Sorry but

I can not count on you .

And even on you.

O none of you .

Some people got tired, some people avoid me, who reproaches me, who confuses me ideas, who disappointed me, who did not respond as he should. I do not know who you are, or if you are still there, or if you have ever been. Come on, do not pretend to deny. Three-quarters you are telling me with eyes that it is inevitable that from now on is my business. I must have also read somewhere that an unhappy person is socially inefficient and closed, because it is concentrated in itself, and its determination to dominate its emergency. So how reproach.

And since there are still bad for your absence , this teaches me

What you is not, unfortunately, that must depend on my stay bad.

If so, every time you going out with friends, have a relationship, you laugh, I will kill. E understand very well that, before making twenty-three years, I'll even exceed thirteen.

So, from now on, everything remains in the family.

But I believe that the growth was a collective thing ?

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To keep your brain trained, and above all not to lose familiarity with the words and the music that comes out, often compose in a language that is not mine. The choice is not so difficult: English, Latin, greek because I rarely vocabulary, and German at the elementary level. The effort to put together words that not know by heart all the meanings and context, compels me to be brief, precise, to re-check many times to do it all over again if it does not satisfy me, and trying a myriad of meanings in the dictionary to be truly sure I'm saying what I mean (and do not reduce me to use a word correctly, but inappropriate for the context). Contact with the words - not phrases or periods, but with the minimum words, there, present in their physicality - reminds me of what I deal with every time I take the pen in hand.

Those of you who read Journey to the Center of the Earth perhaps not remember the lines Latin Verne to write his Icelandic Renaissance, Arne Saknussem:

In Sneffels Yokulis craterem kem delibat Umbrian Scartaris Iulii intra calendas descends, audas viator, et centrum attinges land. Kod feces. Arne Saknussem.

A point in Verne simulated well for the Latin 'service' and dall'ortografia phonetic probably had to have a Nordic scholar of that time. I said to myself, rereading: how it would be in Latin hexameters, maybe inscribed on a stone, right on the path that leads to the Sneffels?

And after three hours, two dictionaries consulted, and a dozen consumed by the ink sheet, here's a first version of the message Saknussem:

In Sneffels Yokulis craterem, non tibi notum

Ni tetigisset eum Scartaris uerticis umbra,

Planitierum cum tepefecit Iulius aequor,

Inque suis descende, audax peregrine, calendis:

Attingesque, diu tenebra uolitatus in atra,

Centrum terrarum: ted adloquitur qui fecit,

Arne Saknussem, glacie spatians Islandae.

Mi si perdonerà la costruzione non correttissima di spatior with the simple ablative, the genitive plural not attested to Planities, the striking archaism ted the the of tepefecit short, and the casual use of the prosody of non-Latin words, but I could while taking some license. Moreover, this is only a first version.